


sometimes bad guys make the best good guys

by abitchlikethis



Category: Leverage, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abitchlikethis/pseuds/abitchlikethis
Summary: Bellamy Blake was the best insurance investigator in the world, until his entire world came crashing down when he was betrayed by the very people he trusted. Employed by unfortunate circumstance, Bellamy has found a new lease on life - to do justice by those who have lost everything like he had, and to pick up where the law leaves off. And he knows just the criminals to help him.





	1. the intro

**Author's Note:**

> the 100 au inspired by the show leverage. 
> 
> well.... it's been a few years! been mulling over this idea for awhile and i'm finally trying to write it while on vacation by myself. not really sure if it'll become a consistent series but who knows, we'll see. please please please leave comments and feedback - i can always use new ideas and motivation to keep writing!!
> 
> super slow burn bellarke btw. other ships will be tagged when included!!!
> 
> warnings: it has to be said that i do eventually plan on killing off some characters, both consistent with the canon story line and ones that are not. some will simply be a part of a long term con. but people will die eventually to allow for other character's to develop. that is all i'm going to say :)

“Another, sir?” the bartender asked, already filling the glass in front of him with a smooth, amber Irish whiskey with a tight smile, the judgement simply oozing out of him as he looked at Bellamy Blake in all his haphazard glory. 

The scene looked like another man’s fever dream. First, there was Bellamy Blake, with his tie loose around his neck and his once-white dress shirt stained from a night of regrettable choices. One of his shoes was missing, which also allowed for the display of his mismatched socks. “When in Rome,” he chuckled hoarsely, toasting the bartender before swigging back the entirety of the glass, a heavy hand clacking it back down onto the bar top. “You’re in San Francisco,” the bartender responded bluntly, swiping Bellamy’s glass from in front of him and moving it behind the bar, silently cutting him off. He had only had three, how rude. 

Bellamy dragged a palm over his face, ignoring the pulsing headache between his temples. The entire bar was much too bright for him at this early of an hour, but he had to ease his hangover as soon as he could - wouldn’t want to miss his flight, or throw up on one of those pretty stewardesses he was oh-so fond of. “Rough night?” the bartender asked, softer now as he polished the nice glassware on a nearby shelf, his manners impeccable despite all the ruckus Bellamy had caused the night before. He winced at the half-memory of his ludicrous behavior, and nodded sullenly at the man with a shrug. “Most of them are these days,” Bellamy mumbled, pulling out his wallet and pulling out enough wrinkled bills to cover his tab, plus a little something extra for the bartender’s troubles, “Keep the change.” 

Bellamy stood up, vision blurry from his morning drink(s) of choice, and began to stumble towards the lobby of the hotel - if this bartender wouldn’t serve him, he’d just have to find one somewhere in the city that would. “Mr. Blake?” Bellamy stiffened - no one had referred to him by that name in ages - before turning around, an unfamiliar man standing next to the bar stool he had just vacated with two coffees in hand. Sharply dressed, expensive watch, well groomed, and tall as a tree…. Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the stranger as he hesitantly approached, the marble floor cold underneath his shoeless foot. Bellamy’s (tipsy) snap judgement placed him as either finances or corporate management, but either way, he didn’t answer to those types anymore, and he didn’t feel like starting now. Still a few paces away, Bellamy stopped and his apprehension must’ve been made clear, because the stranger sighed and set his coffees down on the bar top before reaching in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. A driver’s license slid toward Bellamy on the bartop, and he glanced down at it, memorizing it in an instant despite last night’s stupor still clinging to his throbbing brain. Thelonious Jaha, fifty-three years old, resident of the state of New York, and apparently, an organ donor. 

“I’m here to offer you a job,” the man said with a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced around the empty hotel bar, and Bellamy realized then that the bartender wasn’t anywhere in sight. “I don’t work for people like you,” Bellamy spat out, flicking the driver’s license back, already turning on his heel to leave. “Please,” Thelonious asked again, and it made Bellamy pause, because the emotion in the man’s tone was something he was familiar with - desperation. “They have my son,” Thelonious pressed on, and even with his back to him, Bellamy could hear the man approaching him slowly, pulling something out of his jacket. A photograph landed on the bar top next to him, and Bellamy glanced and saw a shorter, more stout version of Jaha, only he was young and was a recent graduate of - well, Bellamy wasn’t a mind reader, so someplace. Looked prestigious. His mouth was watering again. 

“They took my son,” Thelonious said again, his tone pleading, and Bellamy could feel the man staring at him in a way that bore holes into his back. The nausea was beginning. With a deep breath, Bellamy turned, and it was like he was sucker punched in the gut - he had to see what he had been avoiding for two years. It was written all over Thelonious’ face… the grief of a father who knows his child is gone. The craving aching in the belly of Bellamy’s stomach broke open like a flood gate, and he was sure for a moment he would literally die if he didn’t have a drink this very second. With another deep breath and a tightness in his chest, Bellamy pushed pass Thelonious and walked around the edge of the bar, grabbing one of the coffee cups and dumping a generous portion of Irish whiskey into it. Toasting it to Thelonious, he knocked a chug’s worth back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before grinning maniacally. “So when do I start?” he asked, and the relief that broke over Thelonious’ face - well, maybe Bellamy wasn’t so far gone after all.

 

 

“This is Wells, my boy,” Thelonious started with a small smile, fingering the corner of the picture he had given to Bellamy, “He’s almost twenty-five, smart, loyal to a fault, still believes he can exist in a black and white world of good and evil.” Thelonious paused, a more pensive look crossing his face as he avoided Bellamy’s gaze, still staring at the picture of his son, “I haven’t seen him since his twentieth birthday. We didn’t get along so well back then, after his mother…. Anyway. I sent him to South Africa, to oversee the manufacturing division of my company, Jaha Software Inc. while he finished his degree.”

“Your company?” Bellamy interrupted, and Thelonious responded with a simple nod. “Yes, my company, we manufacture the technology that comes overseas and gets built into computers, phones, electronics galore….”

“At the expense of the American blue collar worker, right,” Bellamy retorted, taking a swig of his now-delicious coffee, shaking his head, “You pay poor people next to nothing to make you parts that you sell for five times their salary, right?”

Thelonious’ face tensed as he clenched his jaw, holding back whatever he was going to say in response to Bellamy’s snap judgement, and Bellamy noticed - he just didn’t care. “Well, go on,” Bellamy prompted, eyebrows high. 

“I sent Wells to South Africa to change manufacturing policy, not make him a slave driver,” the CEO said softly, his gaze turned downward again at his son’s picture, “He didn’t want the company, and I’ll admit, I struggled with that. I struggled with seeing it from his perspective - he saw the company for what it was, while I saw it through rose colored lenses. So I sent him there to make it better, make it something he would be proud of, and then maybe, he would be….” Thelonious paused, but Bellamy understood what he was trying to say. The desperation was back in his tone. “We were getting somewhere, the two of us. He was doing things his way, was thinking about going to school as a human rights lawyer, and I was hurt by that after all the freedom I gave him, but I never knew… I never knew… I never thought he’d run with the wrong crowd.”

Bellamy’s interest was piqued. “Wait, so you’re telling me your wholesome, do-no-wrong son got involved with his own kidnappers? How?” he asked incredulously, punctuating his question with a long sip of his “coffee.” Thelonious exhaled sharply - apparently he didn’t like his stories to be interrupted - as he pressed on, leaning backwards in his chair and crossing his arms. “They entered the company as HVAC consultants to work on the ventilation problem in our main factory where Wells did most of his work. All it took was a no-visualization gas attack and…”

“And they escaped through the very vents you hired them to install, while making out with the entirety of the check that Wells was cutting for them, and I’m guessing a ransom as well,” Bellamy finished boldly, earning himself another sharp exhale from Thelonious, who really, really didn’t seem to care for interruptions. However, Bellamy was still answered with a nod as Thelonious looked around the bar, his gaze settling on the large windows to their right. “The ransom wasn’t monetary though - they already had the money. What they wanted from Wells was my patents, something he didn’t have access to even in his division, something I would have to give to them.”

“Which I’m guessing you won’t,” Bellamy shook his head as he matched Thelonious’ position, leaning back and crossing his arms, “If they had a team of kidnappers that ran a con like that, they’re not amateurs. Especially considering what they want - I won’t be able to do this job on my own, so I’m sorry Thelonious, that’s a really sad story and all, but… I don’t think I’m the right man for this job.” Bellamy grabbed his almost empty coffee and went to stand, but Thelonious grabbed his arm and jerked him down, a glimmer now in his eye. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, I wasn’t very candid with you. I am trying to hire you for this job but… you’re not the only person I’ve hired. You see, I’m investing in my own team. I can’t risk losing my son or my patents… so I’m going to have you con his kidnappers into letting him go with a set of fake ones.” 

Now, he _really_ had Bellamy’s attention. 


	2. the offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm annoying and have to do all my background set up before i can write the actual con - a slave to the creative process, i know. BUT next chapter will be the actual con, and i'm probably going to splice these first two chapters together later down the line when this series gets more bulk to it....
> 
> also i feel like i should disclaim this now - no one is set in their position, i plan on rotating characters in and out purely so i can write them all, and yknow i just like the *~*dramaaaaaaaaaa*~* of it all. also i'm really not sure i like who i picked, so who knows, maybe i'll edit this chapter once i get into the thick of it and switch some people around. i suck, whateva
> 
> remember to comment, give feedback, message idc i just like knowing people actually read the stuff i post xoxo

Bellamy had to admit - he prefered to work alone, even before his tragic fall from grace, but Thelonious Jaha really did do his homework. With the file his new client had put together tucked under his arm, Bellamy strolled to the meeting spot he had been instructed to go to, and to be honest, he was running the tiniest bit late. Every single person that was mentioned in the file had…. A history with Bellamy, so to speak. Even someone as chaotic neutral as Bellamy Blake knew better than to _not_ read the dossier given to him by his employer, and it was pretty plain to see what every person in his file had in common - all of them had squeaky clean records until Bellamy Blake, Insurance Investigator came along and gutted them of their reputation, assets, and in one case… well, he’d confront that bridge when he crossed it. As he reached the top of the stairwell - which meant the top of the parking garage - he could hear muted voices on the other side of the door, arguing.

“Listen, I’m here for the pay out, I don’t care who is giving it to me,” came a female voice, “So, it’s Bellamy Blake. So, he burned my favorite alias - that’s cool! Water under the bridge, my friends.”

“Easy for you to say,” retorted a male voice, a menacing air to it, “He’s the one and only reason I had to spend two months in an Iranian prison camp.”

“If he burns me, I’ll blow him up - screw ‘an eye for an eye,’ I’ll take whatever that man has left,” another female voice growled, and a cold chill went down Bellamy’s spine, because he knew who belonged to that voice. Setting his jaw, Bellamy shoved the stairwell door and walked out onto the top level, where three familiar faces turned and made equally distasteful looks at him.

“Raven, Finn, and Octavia,” Bellamy grinned, strutting towards them, the flask in his pocket becoming more and more appealing, “Well, Jaha sure knows how to build a team, hm?”

“You’re lucky I’m not sniping you off this roof,” Finn responded, his arms crossed and brow furrowed, looking at Bellamy with sharp brown eyes.

“We can save the pleasantries for later,” Bellamy retorted, mimicking Finn’s position as he looked around at his new crew, and suddenly, he realized what he was missing. “Now hang on, Jaha knew enough about the con that he hired a hacker, a hitter, and a thief - so where is my grifter?”

“Guess he saved that role for you,” Octavia spat out, venom on her tongue, but it was Raven who interrupted her, looking between Bellamy and Octavia as she spoke, “No, that wouldn’t make any sense… He’s the brains. I mean sure, Bellamy could grift, but who would make the play call?”

“Guess we’re still hiring,” Octavia grumbled, now folding her arms as well.

Bellamy was beginning to think that this job wouldn’t be half, or even a quarter, as easy as he might’ve thought. “I’m no thief,” he began, but was promptly interrupted by the howl of a laugh that came from each of the individuals he was addressing, “What? I’m not!”

“A drunk, that’s for sure,” Raven smirked with a shrug, “Can smell you from over here.”

“So where do we find ourselves a grifter for a con that’s supposed to go down in South Africa in less than three days?” Finn scoffed, shaking his head.

A look lit up Bellamy’s face.. “You’re not thinking of _her_ , are you?!” Octavia said with a painful amount of distaste in her voice, and Bellamy waved her off, nodding his head.

“Yes _of course_ I’m thinking of her. I mean - Finn said it himself, who else would grift for a three day con in an international city?” Bellamy replied incredulously, as if the situation spoke for itself.

“She’s not getting my cut,” Octavia bit back harshly, and Bellamy shrugged at that, a smile already pulling at his lips. “We don’t need your cut, O,” he replied, and it got the response he wanted, because Octavia all but lunged at him - Finn caught her around the waist just in time. “You don’t get to call me that! Not then, and not ever again!” she shouted, struggling against the arm holding her back, and Bellamy could deduce from Finn’s one arm grip that he hadn’t been completely forgiven for their mutual incident in Afghanistan.

“I have a flight to catch to go to London,” Bellamy said, looking around the circle and making sure to avoid Octavia’s gaze, “we meet in Cape Town in two days to prepare and begin the con. We have less than a week to make the switch. Don’t do anything stupid, don’t go off the radar, don’t all take the same damn flight out there, and for the love of God - try not to get caught.”

“You make it sound like this is our first time,” Raven smirked, “You gonna at least buy me dinner first?”

Bellamy was already turning to walk away, fishing the flask out from his pocket and taking a deep swig before shouting over his shoulder, “Two days!”

 

* * *

 

The best thing about flying was always the mini bar. Sure, on long flights like this one, Bellamy was able to clean out their stock of vodka and tequila before the plane landed, but the flight attendants found him absolutely adorable this time around, which was way better than his past few (twelve) experiences on a commercial airliner. No sexual harassment complaints and only one Long Island double - Bellamy was already starting to feel like himself again. It had been awhile since he had come to London - other than layovers for other flights, Bellamy realized he hadn’t been back to London since the Great Escape of 2008, and probably for the best. He stepped off his flight with muted apprehension, both literally and figuratively walking down memory lane as he made his way to an old safe house. Bellamy knew _she_ was much smarter than that, going back to old digs years afterwards, but if he was lucky he would trip an alarm, and it would become a matter of her seeking him out for answers instead of Bellamy wasting time on a wild goose chase.

The apartment he was looking for was on the top floor of a historic, old brick building on the east corner, where it had the best vantage point for the building across the street - once a bank, in the near-decade since Bellamy had been here, it’d been renovated into a trendy restaurant. Bellamy wondered if the vault was still intact…

It didn’t take long for Bellamy to pick the lock, but that made him more wary than an advanced security system would have. He kicked the door open without moving forward, allowing any secondary security mechanisms a minute to kick in. No such thing occurred. Taking a tentative step forward, he glanced around the room - clean canvases next to a polished easel, nothing in the sink or on the counter, air conditioning unit off - the person he was looking for hadn’t been here in awhile, or was much tidier than she had been in her youth.

Frowning, Bellamy began to pick his way through the apartment, disturbing everything yet making it seem like no one had been here at all. There was no collected dust on any of the surfaces, but it didn’t make sense for a grifter to hire a maid service - the last thing a con needed was an unreliable variable. The drawers were all empty, the fridge was empty, even the bedroom lacked linens. But Bellamy, oh Bellamy knew he was close - when he was still in the investigative business, he had picked up the name Bloodhound Blake because of his almost clairvoyant intuition of bad situations. Oddly enough, this was not one of those situations - he knew his favorite grifter didn’t have the ability to harm him, not after all the fun they had during Bellamy’s holiday in Budapest in 2011.... And with that in mind, Bellamy saw the clue he was looking for.

In plain sight, a brochure rest on top of the stack of clean canvases, and Bellamy smirked to himself. She knew he was coming. Picking up the brochure, he sees her face, for the first time in years, and a smile threatens to break across his lips. She hadn’t aged a day, and she hadn’t stopped pursuing her ludicrous pipe dream. It made Bellamy’s mouth water for liquor as he remembered, only for a moment, how much fun he used to have chasing this girl around the city, a wife and child back home waiting for him as he played cat-and-mouse. Now - those memories just came soaked in grief. He didn’t have time for grief anymore… He had a show to get to.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy sat in the back row as the show began, but if he was being truthful, after the first act, he slipped out of the tiny theater and went to the bar next door. And in his defense - the musical rendition of The Lord of the Rings as a one woman show was one of the worst production investments Bellamy could plausibly ever think of, and he used to work in insurance fraud. Still though, three Mai Tais later and he was sitting pretty in sunshine city, and Bellamy had timed it perfectly that he was able to slip back into his seat during the epic conclusion of this embarrassment to Broadway. When the show ended, he was on his feet, cheering and clapping enthusiastically as every other sane person practically ran out of the theater, in hopes of not being caught in the throes of an encore.

Bellamy’s applause may have been fake, but the unfamiliar feeling that was bubbling in his chest - that was as real as it had been all those years before. And judging by the look on her face as she found him amongst the rows, holding a big bouquet of sunflowers just for her, well…. Bellamy wasn’t able to describe it, but it was probably the best feeling he had in awhile. She came bounding down off the stage, still in her odd costume that seemed to be a splice of hobbit wear and a wizard’s robe, wheat blonde hair shimmering under the house lights and her eyes just as whirlwind blue as ever. Bellamy could barely breathe as she approached him.

“My biggest fan!” Clarke Griffin exclaimed, a big smile across her face as she accepted the sunflowers from a sheepish Bellamy, “To what do I owe the pleasure? You’re not here to try to arrest me again, are you? Didn’t work out so well for you last time you were here.”

“Always trying to goad me into another chase,” Bellamy chuckled, and the twinkle in Clarke’s eye indicated he wasn’t off his mark, “I don’t do that stuff anymore. I’m… putting together a team.”

“A con?!” the look on Clarke’s face was one of pure delight, like a kid in their first candy store, “You, the big bad Bloodhound Blake, are a dirty, rotten thief? Or is this all a part of a bigger play?”

“Well when you put it like that...” Bellamy smirked, turning and beginning to walk out of the theater (and to hide the flush creeping up his neck), with Clarke on his heel, “And it wasn’t my idea. Someone needed help, help that couldn’t be provided by anybody else because of….”

“Your unique set of skills?” Clarke offered with a matching smirk.  

“ _Our_ unique set of skills,” he clarified with a nod, pulling a new copy of the dossier out and waving it in Clarke’s direction, “And I’ve got to say, the others - they’re the best of the best.”

“Well of course they are, that’s why you’re the only one that’s caught them,” Clarke responded lightly, snatching the dossier out of his hand with a knowing smile, tucking it under her arm as they stopped on the sidewalk. “So tell me, Bellamy Blake, what’s the White Knight doing playing the part of the Black King?” she asked, dramatic as always, and always a fan of such mundane tropes. Bellamy shrugged, and something tight wound up in his chest as he began backing away from his once-nemesis, calling over his shoulder as he left her there to ponder his offer, “What can I say? People change.”


End file.
